


Missed You

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 11, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: Mulder and Scully are happy to be together again.  Set in late season 11.





	Missed You

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

Mulder doesn’t get back until late.  He opens the door quietly, not wanting to wake Scully; noise carries in their house.

But she’s there by the front door, not asleep at all.  She’s wearing one of his shirts, and she wraps her arms around him as soon as he gets in the house.  “I missed you,” she breathes.

“I missed you too,” he says.  “But hey, it wasn’t that long.”  He’d been following up a lead on a case they’re working; she’d gone home after finishing the last autopsy, but that was only about five hours ago.  “What’s up?”

She blushes.  “Nothing special,” she says.  “I’m just glad you’re back.  And,” she adds, softly, “I’m glad I’m back too.  Here.”

And he’s glad of that too, so glad.  It’s still new, and he wouldn’t believe it, sometimes, if there weren’t plenty of incontrovertible evidence.  Her glasses on the bedside table and her clothes in the closet.  The coffee getting used up twice as fast.  Her sleeping face, on the pillow next to his, when he wakes up in the morning. 

“Me too,” he says, and he kisses her.  “I’m glad we’re both here, Scully.”  Her arms are around him still, and one of her hands slides down to grab his ass; he starts, and then he grins at her.  “Is that why you’re glad I’m home?” he asks her, mock-sternly.

“That is one of the reasons,” she says.  “Not the only one.”  But then she kisses him again and murmurs, “Come up to bed?” and he’s glad about that too.  That she can say it like that again.  That it’s their bed, the one they share, no clarification needed.

She’s unbuttoning his shirt, as they walk upstairs.  “I was thinking about you,” she says. 

“Yeah?” he says.  “What were you thinking?”

“How much I needed this,” she says.  The bedroom, now, and she pulls him down to the bed with her.  He has her undressed quickly—all she had on was the shirt—and she reaches for his belt, his pants, his underwear, uncovering him as well.  “Come here,” she says, and she kisses him again, long and lingering, so eager, so beautiful.

Their life together sometimes seems like a series of reunions: they’ve been forced apart so many times, and yet somehow they’ve always come back together.  He can’t take anything about what they have for granted; right now, it feels like the first time, the honeymoon period again, and yet it’s been so many years.  Each time he holds her, she is wondrous.

And she is wondrous now, as he kisses her, touches her, moves with her as if they are one.   As he lies beside her afterwards and they talk: affirmations of love, how the lead panned out, whether they should stop at that diner for breakfast on the way to work tomorrow.  As he stands next to her when they brush their teeth at the bathroom sink, accomodating each other and sharing the space in their practiced way.  As he falls asleep, her face next to his.


End file.
